Zyra Andres, Princess of Sparta
by Mrs.Mercer500
Summary: Zyra is no ordinary princess. She didn't dance or sing like the other girls, but faught and played with the boys. She had never felt love or longing...Untill Patroclus came... R & R
1. Childhood

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

_**18 years ago**_

"Ahhhh!" Helen screamed in agony.

It was a hot day in Sparta, and King Menelaus watched as his young wife gave birth to their first child together. He had many other children, all girls, but he hoped this child was different. The beautiful Helen screamed and screamed as she pushed the little infant out of herself. Menelaus and al their other subjects waited for hours as the birthing continued. Finally, the baby was offically born.

"It's a girl!" a maid cried, carrying the blood soaked infant in a small blanket.

Helen held the child, wiping blood from its face. Helen smiled at the child, and kissed its forehead. She handed the child to Menelaus and he laughed. The Gods had done what they had said. He had a girl...who would be a boy at heart. The child had large, deep eyes that resembled Menelaus's, and skin that would eventually become a clean white. Menelaus studied the child carefully, seeing if it was mishapened or disfigured in anyway. It wasn't. The little infant was as perfect as a spartan could get.

"What shall we name her?" Helen asked.

Menelaus thought for a while, then decided, "Zyra...Zyra Andres..."

A servant turned to the crowd and announed, "Behold! The new princess of Sparta! Zyra Andres!"

The crowd clapped and the child was put into a small crib made of jewles and gold. Several improtant members of the group, the child's new various uncles, aunts, cousins, and sisters, came up and looked at the small child. Many of the women described her as cute and charming, and the men said she'd make a wonderful Spartan princess.

_Indeed she would be..._ the king thought.

_**5 Years Later**_

"Never let your opponent get the best of you!"

5-year-old Zyra looked up at her father, King Menelaus, as she stood above her. Her father was a mighty king, with his broad shoulders and big structure, he could initidate even the strongest of soilders. Zyra was his youngest daughter at the time, and he had much to teach her before she started school. Zrya got up from the dirt ground and stood a few feet from him.

Menelaus had always wanted a boy, but he was refused one by the Gods. He had wanted a boy so badly, Zeus made a deal with him. If he married his daughter, she would give him a girl with the heart and soul of a boy. Menelaus agreed, and looked at much his child had grown. She had short, brown hair that still grew, and had eyes that were deeper than the sea and greener than emeralds. He knew she'd grow to be strong and beautiful, and if she were truly a boy, she'd make a glorious warrior.

"Now...Again!"

Zyra and her father clashed swords. He continued to come at the girl, but she found every way to resist. t one point she had lost her sword and was defensless. Menelaus raised his sword and threw it down, but with a quick turn by Zyra, it missed. He continued to miss untill she did a small flip and retreived her sword.

"Very good Zyra!" he said.

The young child came at him, nearly cutting his leg. Menelaus laughed with satisfaction as he dueled with his clever daughter. Off to the side, was his young wife Helen, and their other children, who all watched in amazement.

"Thrust left!" he ordered, she did as she was told, "Thrust right!".

Zyra cafeully listened to her father's directions as he teached her. He gave her such directions as to wear his sword would be heading next.

"Behind!" Zyra spun quickly, their swords colliding.

"Middle!" their swords met once more.

"Left!" she caught his before it could slam into her side.

"Now the...Below!" his sword missed her feet as she jumped quickly.

He stopped his directing, and let her guess. Most of them were right.

"During battle-" he said as their faught, "-Your enemy won't tell you where he's going to strike, so you must strike first-".They stopped with their swords connected, "-Always keep your guard...They will be many around you during battle...You must keep your senses sharp...You understand me girl?"

"Yes father," Zyra said.

Menelaus smiled as he put his sword down, and patted his daughter on the head. "Now, I have a solider waiting for you for your archery lessons...run along!"

Zrya dropped her sword and rushed out of the courtyard. Menelaus had no idea what his daughter would become, but he knew she was destined for something great.

_**3 Years later...**_

8-year-old Zyra pushed a young boy to the ground, and straddled her. Blood spurted from his nose as she slammed her fist into it. She began knocking the boy's head from side to side with each hit, blood splattering onto her growing chest that was covered with a thin cloth. Zyra stood once the boy was unconcious.

She had grown taller and was turning into a young woman. Her face was beaten from fighting with an eye shut closed and bloody, with dirt and blood smeared on her face. Her stomach growled for food, but lessons were not done yet. She had one more opponent, then they'd be allowed to venture outward from the barrack walls.

"Zyra!"

She looked to see one of the older boys walk her way. Zyra saw he had others with him, and Zyra stood her ground.

"If you can do that to him...Let's see what you could do with someone a bit older..." the boy challened.

The boy was a few inches taller, but Zyra's fist connected with the boy's face just fine. The boy fell the the dirt ground, but stood back up and tried to take a swing at Zyra. He missed by a few centimeters above Zyra's head, who head butted him stomach, sending him back to the ground.

The two began to get more furious, their knuckles bloody and dirt from fighting on the ground. It was untill the older boy was on the ground, nearly unconcious.

"Well done Zyra..." a teacher said, "Your father will be proud..."

Zyra just grinned at this news...

_**11 years later**_

18-year-old Zyra stood before her fitness judges, hands behind her back and her posture straight. King Menelaus and Queen Helen sat off to the side, enjoying grapes and wine, along with her 4 other sisters and their husbands. Callidora was the beautiful, blonde first-born, who had much liked by the male soliders who came to visit the palace, untill she was married to a general in the Spartan army. Adonia was the smart, intelligent brunette one who had recently married Ethos, a distant son of Zeus and God. Elene was the silly wonderous one who hadn't been married yet but is betrothed to a lieutenant named Alexios. Then there was little Desma, who Zyra cared for but envied most of all. The beautiful brunette was only 5-years-old, and she had the life Zyra had dreamed about. She was allowed to play freely, and was a normal girl.

"We were very impressed with your speed and cleverness," The Head Judge commented, "Which is why we honor you with your citizenship..."

Zyra bowed as everyone in the room clapped, "Thank you."

Zyra turned to her family, and as she hugged her mother and sisters, she wondered why she had always been treated so differently. Why was she commanded to archery lessons when her sisters just sat in the throne room and were treated with the company of soliders? Why was she sent to an all boy's school when her sisters attened lesons with only girls? She wanted to know why boys swooned over her sisters but only laughed and joked around with her. It angered her not knowing...

"You did wonderfully, my daughter," Menelaus congradulated.

"Thank you Father," she smiled proudly.

She knew she'd never know...

A/N: This was just a little glance into her childhood, but the real story comes up next!


	2. Traitor

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

_**Present Time**_

Zyra walked around the crowded room, the smell of festival in the air. People drank wine from gold cups, and girls danced in barely anything. It reminded her of when it was her father's birthday. Of course, it was no birthday. Prince Paris and Hector had decided to pay them a visit, and as usual, her father saw this as a time for celebration. Zyra smiled at the people who walked by, bowing at her presence. She had gotten used to others bowing at her feet when she walked passed them. She merely acknowledged them and continued to sail across the room in her flowing red cloth dress. Her head ached with the pins used to keep her hair up in place. Zyra wasn't used to dressing up as her sisters were. They had spent most of their lives decorating their hair. She usually had it up in a bun a majority of the time, since no one ever expected any more out of her.

"Zyra!" a voice called.

She turned to see Callidora walk her way, elegant and graceful. Zyra never really liked her eldest sister, but she did not show it much. It wasn't like it would matter to Callidora anyways.

"Desma needs to be put in bed...Do it..." 

"Why don't you?" Zyra asked, "We both know you could certianly use the mothering skills."

"She won't listen to anyone but you," Callidora explained, "Now go! She might be outside in the garden..."

The two sisters made their seperate ways, Zyra going outside to the garden. Night had set down on Sparta hours ago, and the cool breeze from the ocean swept in above the tall palace walls. The moon was high above Sparta, and gracing them with her lovely, white glow. Zyra walked amongst the blooming flowers and surpting fountians. Then she heard hushed voices talking in a balcony above her. Zyra leaned against a wal underneath it and listened very carefully.

"Paris, we cannot go on like this," a woman's voice said. Zyra recongized it immediately as her mother, Helen's voice.

"Why not? I love you Helen," she heard a man's voice said.

"Menelaus will find out soon enough, then he'll have you killed..."

"I don't care," Paris said, "I'd die a thousand deaths for you, my love."

A mist of anger erupted in Zyra's stomach. She had always thought her mother was loyal and faithful to her father. Now, she could see she was wrong. _'The filthy whore..." _Zyra thought as she crept away out of the garden unnoticed.

Zyra found her father sitting with a bunch of risky dressed woman around him, laughing at all his stories and jokes. She could tell that he was already half-way drunk, and probably wouldn't listen to a word she said, nor would he have believed it. Zyra decided to leave the horrible news untill tomorrow morning, when he was sober enough to comprehend what she would tell him. In the mean time, She felt a mixture of hate, anger, and sorrow build up in her the rest of the night as she searched for Desma, whom she found hiding in kitchen with the servants, biting down on a delicious red apple.

"But Zyra, I am not tired," Desma whined as her older sister escorted her to her room alone.

"Well, father gave Callidora strict orders to tell me to put you to bed."

They reached the child's bedroom and tucked her into bed. Zyra looked into her little sister's big, brown eyes.

"Why didn't mother put me to bed?" the small girl asked.

Zyra was not sure what to tell her, so she made something up. "She and father were busy. Now, go to sleep...I'll come fetch you in the morning..."

She planted a kiss on her sister's forehead and put out the warm fire. The room was now in total darkness as Zyra exited the room, looking down on her little sister.

She made a secret wish that her sister never heard the news...

"THAT FILTHY, LITTLE TRAITOR!!!"

Zyra woke up to the sounds of her father raging just outside her bedroom door. She leaped out of bed quickly and stood as several servants began combing and brushing her hair, applying her makeup, and giving her a new dress to wear. She was having her dress clipped on when her father stormed in with his advisors behind him.

"Zyra..." he said in an angry tone, "Do you know the wereabouts of your mother, Helen?"

"Certianly not father, but I do have devestating news..." she said turning to him, her chin up high.

"Tell me..."

Zyra walked directly in front of him and said, "She was having an affair with Prince Paris of Troy."

"I am aware of that daughter," her father said in the most respectful way he could, "Where would she be now?" he sat down on a seat a servant pulled up for him.

"Probably on her way to Troy..." Zyra said as she began to walk slowly over to her balcony, "I'd suggest we go over and give that boy a piece of what he has coming to him..."

Her father laughed as he went beside his daughter and put a hand on her slender shoulder, "We wil my daughter...We will. Go attend to Desma, have the servants pack your things, we leave for Mycenae."

He strolled out and Zyra just watched him with a slight grin on her face.


	3. Cousins

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

Zyra sat on a horse along side her father as they gazed up at her uncle's palace. Several guards stood behind them, all on foot. Once her father began riding towards it, Zyra and the guards followed swiftly behind. They were inside soon enough, and the guards were told to wait outside while Zyra and Menelaus went into her uncle's throne room. Zyra's uncle, Agamemnon, was a plump man with long, curly brown hair. He only enjoyed two things: Victory and women. He smiled gladly when he spotted his brother and neice walk into the room.

"Ahh, brother," Agamemnon smiled as he pulled his brother into a hug. His eyes laid on Zyra, and gazed at his beautiful neice. "Zyra...You have grown so...Much..."

"Thank you uncle," Zyra bowed in respect, "I see you are also doing well."

Agamemnon laughed in delight as he turned to his brother, "I wish all _my_ daughters gave me this much respect..."

"Zyra is one in a million..." Menelaus said as he looked at his daughter.

"Shall we proceed to more private quarters? I have the generals and kings waiting..."

"Of course,"

Zyra and her father followed Agamemnon into a room where several older men stood, awaiting their arrival. Many of the men turned and stared at Zyra, since she was the only woman in the room. She did not smile. She did not wink. All Zyra did was stand beside her father, and gaze back at them. She wasn't here for their enjoyment, she was here for the business of warfare.

"Now that we are all settled in," Agamemnon addressed the men, "Let us talk of war..."

The meeting seemed to go on for hours. Zyra did not speak for most of it, since her father did all the talking. Several men noted on her beauty to her father, but instead of defending her, he agreed. Zyra felt the need to protect herself from these men. She had met most of them on one or two occasions, and hardly knew them.

"My lady," An older man said as the meeting ended.

It was Odysseus of Ithaca. He and Zyra had met on a few occasions, but he always had a habit of complimenting her. This bothered her slightly, since she didn't like being admired by so many men.

"Odysseus," Zyra said, "I see my uncle has persuaded you to join him..."

"Your uncle is very familiar with persuasion," He smiled, "If I had known you would be attending the meeting I would made more of an effort," He said as he pointed out how plain he looked.

"There's no need Odysseus. Not many of the men here are impressive..."

He laughed, "Apparently, they did not receive the message either..."

"Zyra," It was her cousin Orestes.

Orestes was tall and muscular like most of Mycenae's men were. His hair was cute slightly shorter than she remembered, and he had began to grow a rough beard. He smiled as he looked down at the princess, observing the view.

Zyra smiled and hugged her cousin, "Orestes, it's so wonderful to see you again..."

"As it is to see you cousin," He smiled back, then he turned to Odysseus, "Odysseus, would you excuse us?"

"Yes your majesty," he bowed to them both and walked away.

Once he was away, Orestes moved very close to Zyra, "Would you mind coming to the garden with me?"

"Not at all...Lead the way cousin..."

The two young adults walked towards the garden, speaking of the upcoming war with Troy, and all the details leading up to it. Zyra enjoyed being with the men in her family, they always had something intelligent to speak of.

"I heard from your father the last suitor did not go so well. Tell me, what was wrong with Ajax?"

"He was too old for me...Also, he was a bit of a brute," She laughed, "We had nothing in common and all he ever talked about was my _beauty_."

"Well," The two stopped under a tree and faced one another, "You _are_ very lovely...Almost heavenly, as if Aphrodite herself had created you..."

"Orestes..." Zyra said unmoved, "I told you...I don't marry anyone of my blood..."

Orestes took her hand and looked into her eyes, "Can't I be an exception? I love you Zyra, I always have...Always will. My love for you is so powerful, not even the Gods could wash it away..."

"I do not have those feelings Orestes..." Zyra tried to turn away, "Please understand..."

He pulled her in close to him, holding her tight against his chest, he was glad she did not protest, "Remember that afternoon by the lake? Hmm? Remember how delicate and gentle I was? Why did you not protest then?"

"I was eleven and you were sixteen, I was just a child. I had no idea what you had done to me..."

"Don't use that excuse," Orestes said with anger in his voice, "You enjoyed every second I was touching you...Admit it," His grip on her became tighter.

"Orestes, release me..."

"Not until you agree to marry me and be mine..."

Zyra reacted quickly. She kicked Orestes in his shin and pulled out his sword. Zyra spun and then pointed it towards him. Orestes took a step back and tried to reason with Zyra.

"I will not marry you," She told him, "If no man can have me, why should you? What makes you so deserving?"

"I love you Zyra," He held a hand to his chest, "With all my heart..."

"Well, I will say this to you and your _love_," Zyra said, "You're pathetic! Love doesn't bring any man or woman happiness, only violence and death!"

"Are you so cruel?" He asked, "To let a man die of a broken heart?"

Zyra stepped up to his, sword under his chin, "With every fiber of my being..."


	4. Persuasion

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

Zyra stepped away from her cousin and walked back into the palace. It had been so long ago she had shared that moment with Orestes, but now she regretted it deeply. They were blood. It was often she'd meet women who had married their own cousins, or even brothers, out of desperation or "pure love". She never understood why they'd do it, but she didn't question. That was their mistake; Not hers.

"My daughter!" Menelaus said as she came walking back down into the room, "I must speak with you…" Zyra walked beside her father, who wrapped a warm arm around her cold shoulders. "In order to win the battle against Priam, our army will need the strongest and mightiest men in all of Greece."

Zyra understood where this conversation led, and she wished to go back up it.

"Odysseus has agreed to see Achilles about joining our ranks-"Her father turned her to Odysseus.

"My lady, Achilles may be the finest warrior in all of Greece, but he is also the most stubborn. He will not come quietly. I am asking you, as a favor, to come with me to persuade the man. A woman can do the job just as well as a man…"

She looked at him. It was only the men she knew that would use a woman to do their work. Zyra knew she could persuade Achilles easily, as if she really desired the task, but she would only go for the greater good of Greece. They needed a man like Achilles to fight with them. He was the only man she knew that could match up to Prince Hector of Troy.

"I will go," Zyra said, receiving relieved and pleased sighs. She walked up to Odysseus, "However, if he even think of touching-"

"His heart will meet the end of my sword…" He reassured her, and she nodded.

"Father," Zyra turned to him, "I'll go fetch Desma and we will meet with the guards."

They bowed as she walked out. Before she closed the door, Zyra's ears caught her father's toned voice saying, "I'll never have to worry about my kingdom when I am gone…Zyra will make a good queen."

"Hopefully, with a husband!" Someone said, causing the men to all agree.

A pit of anger and fear surged in the young princess, as she thought of their words. Zyra had never thought of men, or boys, the way her sisters did. They had all married at such young ages to men so much older than them. Zyra did not want that. She did not need a man to make herself worthy. She could care for herself.

_Besides, men are such a hassle…Too much pressure for a young thing…_She thought as she walked to a small room in the palace.

Young Desma was standing on the balcony, looking out at the city of Mycenae underneath and beyond her. Zyra did not announce herself until the little brunette turned her way.

"Zyra!" Desma ran into her older sister's arms, hugging her tightly.

"I hope your things are packed…We leave soon…"

"They are…" Desma smiled, "I never unpacked!"

Zyra smiled and bent down. Desma was the only sister that Zyra could relate to. Callidora was too posh and snobbish; Adonia was a bookworm and Elene was just a handful to those around her. Desma was carefree and did not let things bother her so easily. Zyra wished so much that she were that way. Then things like marriage, expectations and wars would not be such a problem to her.

"Ugh," Zyra looked closer at her sister, "You're filthy…Were you in the garden?"

"I only played Zyra," Desma's voice muffled as the tunic went over her head.

"We'll just have to bathe you then, won't we?"

Zyra left to find her new clothes, but Desma, completely naked, had hopped onto the bed. She did not stop her younger sister, who was staining the sheets with dirt, since Zyra herself had done that at one age.

"Are you coming home with us big sister?" Desma asked as Zyra led her into the nearby bathroom.

"I am afraid not," Zyra dumped a sitting bucket of warm water into the basin; "Odysseus and I have an old friend to meet. Now, while I am gone, please do not cause father trouble."

Stepping inside Desma agreed and smiled to confirm it. Zyra bathed her sister in silence, thinking to herself. How would she convince Achilles to join her father, whom he hated so much? Would he even accept it? He was a trouble, stubborn man. It would be difficult without a little…extra….persuasion.

_Just the thought makes me sick…_ She thought distastefully.

After her bath, Desma was given a light meal and taken to her horse. The guards watched over the small princess, who was busy playing with the tight braid Zyra had a maid tie. When Menelaus embraced his daughter, he said quietly...

"Good Luck and Good Work..."


	5. Born To

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

A few days later, Zyra rode her own horse, Ethon. The fine animal had dark orange for a coat, and black strands for a mane. Zyra had been riding him since she was 13-years-old and she had been permitted to ride him.

"Steady," She said, pulling back the reigns on him.

In the distance she spotted two men, battling in the ruins of a temple. One she knew instantly as Achilles, from his the shine in his blonde locks. However, she did not recognize the man with him, who had darker hair and wore darker tunics.

"Quite a fighter, is he not?" Odysseus rode up beside her.

"Yes…Indeed. I now see my uncle's need for him," Zyra agreed, not taking her eyes off either of the men.

"Shall we go –"

Suddenly, a spear shot through into the tree next to the two. Odysseus flinched slightly, looking at the spear, as it rotated in its place. Zyra, on the other hand, merely stared at the bronze god who stood a few yards away. She followed Odysseus to the temple ruins, and offered to help her off Ethon. She let him do no such thing.

"We see your reputation for hospitality is fast becoming legend!" Odysseus laughed as he approached the two.

Zyra, not being afraid, stepped up to them both. The dark haired man, or boy rather, caught her eye. His muscles were just like Achilles' only less God-like and more natural. Strands of light brown hung in his face, covering over sharp blue eyes. Those blue eyes stared at Zyra, admiring her beauty and her grace.

"Odysseus…Zyra…"

Achilles was the only warrior who addressed Zyra by her first name; a bold move too, seeing as her father wished everyone addressed her by her title.

He put his sword to the back of the younger boy, pushing him toward Odysseus. "Patroclus…My cousin…"

"Patroclus…I knew your parents well. Shame how they died so tragically," Odysseus said to him, patting his broad shoulder. "I assume you know Zyra Andres, Princess of Sparta?"

"I have heard much," Patroclus looked down at her from his height, and Zyra thought him handsome, but nothing more.

"I see you decided to bring her…" Achilles said, taking a sip of water from its bag, "Did you think I'd give so easily into a woman?"

"Zyra agreed to come; she wished to see you…"

"If she has come to persuade me, tell her I will not come-"

"Quietly," Zyra came closer and looked Achilles straight in the eye, "I know of your aggression Achilles, and I can't say I do not share the same. I don't want any take in this war anymore than you."

"Then why follow?"

"It is my duty to follow my father, as it is yours to fight for the Greeks."

Achilles and Patroclus began to battle again, while Odysseus talked to him. Zyra watched Patroclus, and his movements. He was speedy and quick, just as she was. Some moments, it was hard to tell which one was Achilles, since Patroclus moved with the same motions and reflexes.

"Will you accept our offer?" Odysseus said, "No man would refuse."

"I will not fight another man's war just because he cannot hold onto his wife…"

Zyra, being the loyal girl she was, would have lashed out at him for the comment years ago. However, she did agree with him now. Menelaus never really had a tight grasp on Helen while she lived with them. So many times, Zyra wanted to show Helen's disloyalty, and now, here was proof she was not fit to be queen. Her father had refused to believe his wife was unhappy, seeing as she was a queen and could have whatever she wanted. Zyra was somewhat glad Helen had fled the palace with Paris, they would not have to worry about her moping about everywhere, complaining of her unhappiness. Menelaus, of course, was a man. And men always take back what's theirs.

"I present a wager," Zyra said.

"My lady?" Odysseus called her for attention, she ignored him.

"What is this wager?" Achilles asked.

"We shall fight. If I knock you to the ground, using only one of those swords, then you will fight for us. If you do the same to me, Odysseus and I will leave."

Achilles thought, looking at her with a unsure stare. She could tell battling a woman would be hard work for him, seeing as he's a gentleman and she's a princess.

"Alright. I accept," Achilles came to his conclusion, "Patroclus…"

Patroclus gave her his wooden sword, and Odysseus stared the first round. Achilles swung his sword first, but missed Zyra by inches. The two of them fought with amazing skills, each missing the others blows. Finally, when Zyra was backed into a corner, she ran her sword's "blade" through Achilles' lower leg, causing the mighty immortal to fall to his knees.

Achilles gave the princess a sour look, but that turned into a smile once he realized that he had been beaten by a woman.

"Very good Zyra," Odysseus cheered, "I thought I'd never live to see you battle."

"I'm impressed," Achilles said, standing on his feet, "Few women could take a man down so easily…"

"You forget Achilles," She tossed the sword back to Patroclus, "I was born to do it…"


	6. Battling Troy

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

It was an early morning as Zyra and the Greeks sailed onto the shores of Troy. Even though Sparta held the champion cup at the Olympics every year and had the finest soldiers in the world, they could not live up to the greatness of Troy. With Prince Hector and his brothers leading the army, they seemed almost unconquerable.

"They have a lovely beach," commented Desma as the ship finally reached the land, "I have never seen sand so white before, or the ocean so blue..."

"Ours is better," Zyra remarked.

"But not as great as Troy."

Zyra petted her younger sister's head, and began to stroll down the ship side. Several soldiers stared in awe and amazement as the youthful beauty walked amongst them; her skin was glowing in the morning sunlight, and her hair bouncing in magnificent curls. No man stood a chance in the grace and confidence of Princess, Zyra Andres.

"My lady," A tall, bearded soldier found her, "Your father and uncle have prepared a tent for you on the beach...They wish for you to go see it."

"Is there not a battle?" Zyra asked him, watching several men jump down from the ship and onto the shores.

"The battle is further up the shore, my Princess," He answered, "You shall have no fear here..."

Zyra nodded and took Desma's hand as they both sought their way off the boat. Their sandals sunk into the sand as the trudged through the emerging tides; the sun was burning hot now as they stood on the beach shores, water causing them to move slower in pace. Eventually, the two sisters made it onto the land, forcing several hand-maids to lift up the bottoms of their robes.

"Father!" Desma called out through a sea of men, running as quick of as could in her sagging dress, "Father! Father!"

"Desma!" Menelaus scooped his daughter up into his arms, a large grin on his face, "The Gods are truly smiling on us today, my pet!"

Desma hugged her father tight as he carried her to his fourth eldest, staring at her with great pride.

"You should have taken the ramp, Zyra. Then possibly, your robe might not be ruined."

"It is not completely ruined," Zyra noted on the wet area of her dress, "Besides, only cowards and weaklings take the easy way."

Menelaus laughed, putting his arm around his daughter's shoulders, "You are too much like your old king,"

"I am proud to say I am, Father,"

"Come now," Menelaus began walking with his daughters, "I'll show you your tent."

They walked halfway across the beach, past many of the Greek camps. There were no men occupying them, since they were all fighting for Greece up on the beach.

Zyra's tent was large, draped with treasures of all kinds. Jewlry sat on a table, waiting to be warn; fresh cloth remained on a chair, while her bed was surrounded by frilled curtians. It was every woman's dream to have such a room, only Zyra wished she only had a simple setting.

"You do not like it," Menelaus stated as he saw his daughter's reaction.

"Must everything I have be so luxurious?" Zyra crossed her arms as she examined piece of gold and silver on her table.

"Your uncle and I only try to give you the world, my Princess,"

"Well, I do not wish for the world," Zyra snapped at him,

"Then what do you dream for?" Menelaus touched his child's shoulder gently.

"I want Troy..."

"Princess," Zyra turned to see a maid standing in her doorway, "Someone has come to see you..."

"Let them in,"

It was later in the day, almost noon, and The Greeks had defeated Troy in one battle. Zyra knew they had won from her father's loud boasting and the cries of joy from several passing men. She leaned against a thick pole as she stared out the window at the resting sun.

"Zyra," Orestes stepped through the curtian door, looking at his cousin with longing and desire, "I was hoping you might have come..."

"Hope no longer," Zyra did not even look at the man as he entered, only the beautiful waves of Poseidon, "I made it a goal to come to Troy with my father..."

"Only a woman so brave would," She heard his footsteps approach her, "Cousin, I hope you can forgive me for our last meeting...I would never meant to anger you..."

"But you had," Zyra turned to her cousin, "Orestes, why have you come?"

"Some of the men..They're having practice duels on the beach, and they wondered if you would...perhaps-"

"Am I being challenged?"

"Yes. One particular Greek seemed eager to battle with you..."

"Then I will go," Zyra said, "Arcadia!" A maid appeared before her, "Fetch my sword, spear and sheild..."

"Yes, your Highness,"

"Tell the men they can expect me there,"

"Of course," Orestes bowed, and walked out of the room.

"Men are so ridiculous..." Zyra chuckled as Arcadia tied a belt around her waist and handed her a sheild and spear.

She had not battled in a while...


	7. Patroclus The Fool

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

"Block him! _Block__ him!_" Orestes shouted as he watched one of his own men fight inside the circle against Luther of Ithaca, "Lunge forward! Forward!"

His shouts could be heard above the cries of others as they raged on through the battle. Every man wanted their representative to win, so they can say they were the best. Some moments, he wished Zyra were there to see it continue; he knew she loved challenges...much like herself.

"I can see you train your men well," He heard her voice not far behind him. He turned to see her dressed in her robe, sheild and spear in hand, "Luther hasn't had a contest in quite some time..."

"He's no match for Barnabas," Orestes said to her, "I see you came well prepared,"

"All good warriors do..."

"I suppose so," Orestes smiled, then turned to the group of men, "Hault!"

The two men ceased their battle, stopping to stare at the princess. Zyra walked into the circle, observing the many soldiers that had been cheering on their winner.

"Who challenged me?" Zyra asked the group. No one spoke for a moment, until she repeated her question, "Who _challenged_ me?"

"I did,"

Out of a wall of tall, muscular men came a equally tall but less built boy. Light brown locks swung around his oval face, while crystal blue eyes glittered like silver. She recognized him as Achilles's cousin, however, she did not know his name.

"And who might you be, boy?" Zyra asked,

"Patroclus," He answered, "Son of Menoetius, and I, Princess, challenge..."

"Brave boy," Orestes remarked, "Not many men would go to such a feat,"

"Please cousin," Zyra rose her hand to silence him, "Do not frighten to boy away."

"Over-confident, aren't we?" Patroclus laughed.

"Not confident, Patroclus, positive..."

"Then draw!"

Patroclus swung his sword towards her, but Zyra blocked his hit with her bronze shield. She retaliated with a strike against his shield. The men around them began to call out each of their names and cheer their player on. Their voices only encouraged Zyra more.

She became more fierce.

More angry.

More eager to win.

Zyra swished and waved her sword, which constantly collided with Patroclus's, going further than her best would let her. Ultimately, Zyra's sword ran through his shield, forcing Patroclus to toss it aside. Patroclus had thrust his sword with much more frustration now that he wasn't armed; he damaged Zyra's sheild just like she had his.

Now that neither of them were protected, the injuries would soon begin. Although, Zyra was beginning to see that Achilles's had trained his cousin well, since the boy moved exactly like him. If she had not know better, she would have mistaken him for Achilles.

Their swords clanged and met with each lunge, forcing each of the opponents to grow exhausted and strained. Then, Zyra cut underneath Patroclus, whom jumped to a great height, and ran her blade up the side of his toned bicep.

Patroclus backed away slightly, blood dripped quickly from his wound, but continued the fight. Zyra had missed his blade taking her head, but not from slitting her shoulder blade swiftly. Pain ached inside her shoulder, but she didn't let that stop her.

Silence had now taken over the group, as all the men watched in amazement as the two fought. Patroclus's sword ran on the side of Zyra's leg, slicing through her robe; Zyra's blade grazed his cheek.

At one point, their swords met. Zyra entangled hers with Patroclus's, compelling him to lose his sword. Zyra pointed her sword against his neck, while the group around them cheered as Patroclus, neck-deep in embarrassment, rose his hands. The fight was over.

"Patroclus!" A demanding voice called over the praising crowd.

Achilles appeared from behind his men, looking at the damaged sight of his cousin. Zyra dropped her sword to the side, it landing with a small clang.

"What have you done?" Achilles asked the princess.

"Ask your cousin, he was foolish enough to go against me-"

"Only because you flaunted your skills-"

"I wouldn't have done it if you had just consented-"

The two began to argue as people began leaving the circle. Only Patroclus and Orestes stood, watching and listening as their cousins feuded.

"I wouldn't be here if your father would have held onto his wife-"

"My mother's a whore and I know it! No need to tell me so!"

"Will you two stop it?!" Orestes shouted finally, "This is ridiculous. Achilles," He called the warrior's attention, "This was simply a contest for play. No one knew it would get so-"

"Violent?" Achilles scoffed, "She knew..."

"Don't you dare blame me for your cousin's stupidity!"

"Enough!" Orestes called once again, "You two fight like an old married couple..."

"Cousin," Patroclus's soft voice came into hearing distance, "I only wished to prove myself. If I could fight you, I wondered how I do against the best-"

"Terribly," Zyra retorted.

"Zyra!" Orestes hissed, "Stop."

"It's a real shame when the cousin of such a great warrior is defeated by a woman-"

"Zyra..."

"I can show you," Patroclus replied, "I will leave you on the ground-"

"Didn't do so well today,"

"Zyra," Orestes took his cousin's arm, "Let it go. Achilles, I will see you on the battlefield tomorrow morning,"

The two went their separate ways, completely unaware of the danger and tragedy that was just above Apollo's head...


	8. Beautiful Disaster

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

"Princess, I do not know why you insist on competing with the men. It only injures you..."

Arcadia sat beside Zyra that warm, sea-air night. She was bandaging and healing the princess after the day's contest. Zyra did not reply to Arcadia's comment, but stayed inside her thoughts.

Patroclus was indeed handsome, just like his cousin. She could not forget the way his grunts had been soft and low, while his hair came into his eyes, but never distracted him. Zyra looked over, mentally, how his muscles had contracted and retracted as he moved about the sanded circle, slashing and blocking.

He was the kind of man, or boy that would make some woman happy.

"Your Highness," Orestes voice came from the entrance of the tent, "I'm glad to see you are doing well..."

He set his weapons down on her table and walked to her bed, waving Arcadia away. Zyra observed her cousin as he took the wet bandages from the bowl and placed them on her leg. She noticed how the lust in his eyes intensified as he gazed at the droplets of water that glistened on her thigh. His hands were gentle with her skin; they almost came into a caress as he reached over the bowl again.

"Why are you here?" Zyra asked him, hoping it might stop his eagerness.

"I only wanted to look after my cousin myself. Honestly, I feel a bit responsible," He continued wrapping her wounds, "I shouldn't have-"

"Orestes," Zyra interrupted him, "In all the years you have known me, when have I ever been known to turn away from a fight?"

He laughed as he soaked some cloth, "Never. I remember, even as a little girl you had boys begging for mercy as you wielded you sword around and struck them. They used to say, 'If anyone could defeat Ares, it would be Zyra'."

Zyra laughed as she gulped down her wine, agreeing with him. "Yes, but has Ares shown himself?"

The two cousins laughed and then drew silent. Zyra sat in her mind, thinking back to Patroclus once again. He had been an excellent opponent; again, like Achilles. It had never taken her long to win, but Patroclus had put up a strong, serious fight. He took his pain the way a child takes a tumble. When they fall down, they stand and persist.

"Zyra..." Orestes looked at his kin.

She was so angelic, but so devious as well. Orestes could have sworn she was the creation of Aphrodite and Zeus. Her skin was so fair and smooth, he could touch it and mistaken it for silk. Orestes drew himself closer to his goddess of a cousin, and cupped her cheek in his hand. Her lips were parted slightly, almost as if they were, subconsciously, begging for his. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip; the princess came to herself.

"Orestes..." She said softly, "What are you doing?"

"Quiet, my love," Orestes told her, "I can be very quick about it-"

"Captain!" A voice shouted from outside the tent, "Your father wants to speak to you,"

Orestes sighed and looked down at his single love, "I see it will have to wait..."

Zyra felt her cheeks grow hot as she watched her cousin gather his things and leave. He would have tried touching her if that soldier hadn't ruined it for him. She had half a mind to grab hold of her spear and stick it through his heart. However, her leg wound had other plans.

Once his footsteps vanished out of hearing distance, Zyra flung onto her bed. This had been the most rest she had gotten in days; it seemed so heavenly. The sheets lay underneath her, seducing her with their comfort. Zyra felt herself drift calmly to sleep as the lids of her eyes slowly began to close.

Nothing was left but the sound of the crashing ocean…

Just as soon as she fell asleep, Zyra awoke to the feeling of someone standing over her body. In an instant, she grabbed the dagger underneath her pillow and took a swing at the person above her. She heard them fall to the ground with a thud.

She leaped up off the bed, realizing her attacker was Patroclus. He was not dressed in his armor, but a simple black tunic and sandals. Zyra took a split second to gaze down at the gorgeous man.

"Patroclus," Zyra whispered, "What are you doing here?"

"To take back my honor," He growled and swung his sword back at the girl, who blocked him with ease.

The two clanged their swords together, each shielding themselves from the others blows. Zyra was mesmerized by how easily and smoothly Patroclus glided around her as they fought. He seemed focused on one thing: winning.

"Patroclus," Zyra growled as he missed her strike, "This is ridiculous. We both know who will win in the end."

"I will not give in-" He slashed his blade through the bottom of her robe, revealing the white skin underneath.

"How dare you even-"

Zyra thrusted her sword towards Patroclus but she only missed by several inches. He laughed and cut one side of her robe; letting it fall past her breasts.

"Let me win or I'll cut the other one off," Patroclus threatened, coming closer as he raised his sword to her chin.

"Never..." Zyra brought her sword up into the air, but his hand caught her wrist in mid-motion.

The two of them stood there, looking deep into each other's eyes. Zyra spotted a hint of lust in the taller man's brown eyes as he stared down at her half-naked body. She could see he wanted to ravage her body and violate her in ways he knew he should not, and in a ridiculous way, she wanted him to. Patroclus leaned into her face; his eyes still on her confused ones, then planting a soft kiss on hers.

It was something Zyra couldn't control nor let go of. She had never been kissed, unlike her elder sisters, who have shared enough kisses with all their male suitors. As Patroclus dropped his sword and held her close, Zyra wondered if this was wrong. Should she be kissing a man gallant enough to come after her? So many had tried before, and never succeeded the way Patroclus had.

"Well?" Patroclus whispered as they stood in their embrace.

Zyra sighed as she looked up at him. Losing was not something the Princess of Sparta took to heart. She was used to cutting men down and turning them away when they asked for a dance or a brush of her hand. Zyra never thought of actually...

Loving someone...

"Take me," Zyra removed the rest of her tunic and Patroclus found himself captivated by her body.

Patroclus gently shoved her down onto the fur and cotton sheets, getting rid of his own robe. The both of them spent the night embracing and making love on Zyra's bed. Each of them felt so passionate, so affectionate, and so loved, smiles never left their faces.

It was the start of a beautiful disaster...


	9. The Oracle

Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen.

The next morning, Zyra awoke to the sight of Patroclus looking at her from his side of the bed. This time, he was not armed with a dagger or spear, but he bore a fascinated stare. She smiled when she felt his lips leaving trails of kisses along her shoulders and arms.

"I was having a good dream," She told him, "A very good dream. You were there with me,"

"Was I?" He kissed her forehead and grinned.

"Yes, you were,"

Zyra looked into his eyes, becoming consumed in their sea blue color. She had never felt this way about a man before. While she was laying there beside Patroclus, her heart beated faster than Apollo's chariot could race across the sky. When he held her, Zyra felt no need to carry a sword or shield, because he would always be there to protect and defend her.

"What is the hour?" She asked him.

"Morning, I must leave," Patroclus slid out of her arms and sat on the edge of her bed.

Zyra felt cold once Patroclus let her out of his clasp. She sat up, pulling the sheets over her naked body, and kneeled behind him.

"Must you leave so soon? It is not even the afternoon and no one has called for you," Zyra spoke softly as she kissed his shoulder gently.

"My cousin would go to my tent to find me. He would kill me if he found you in my arms," Patroclus said to her in a gaze almost.

"Is he such a cruel man? To not let his cousin love whomever he wishes?"

"Yes. He is."

"Then let me die. I would rather have Hades seize me from my bed than lose you, love."

Patroclus turned and stared, once again, into her precious eyes, "I would not let it be so. You are the only woman I have ever looked at and wanted to hold," He stood up and lifted her from the bed, "The only one I anger and then want to soothe passionately..."

"You proved that last night,"

He held her naked form close to his, letting his hands study her figure. Zyra closed her eyes, taking in the touch of his rough hands on her soft skin. Their lips met once more, kissing each other delicately. Zyra had never felt so comfortable with a man, not even her father. Whenever a man felt her, Orestes for example, she felt a boiling hate and anger. Now, as Patroclus admired her beauty with his palms and fingertips, she wanted nothing more than for him to stay and comfort her.

"Stay with me," Zyra whispered in his ear, "Please. Pretend it is not morning, and that the sun never rose."

Patroclus chuckled slightly, "Since when have you needed a man so much?"

She smiled, "Not until you came,"

They both laughed, flinging down onto the bed. Patroclus set himself in between her legs, brushing up against her lightly. Small waves of pleasure took over Zyra, but she did her best to contain them.

"Patroclus," She called out his name, but only received kisses in reply, "We should not do this,"

"You wanted me to,"

"Yes," She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, "But Arcadia will be here any minute. If she sees you-"

"You can tell her to not speak about it," Patroclus interrupted her words, sealing her lips with a warm kiss.

"If my father hears about this, he'll kill you when he's finished killing Paris-"

"Then Achilles will kill him for killing me, my love. Please, do not fret about this..." He dug himself into the base of her neck, and muffled his words while he kissed her, "I love you with every inch of my being, I will not let myself lose something so valuable to me..."

"I know," Zyra turned his head away from her neck and into her eyes, "I love you as much as you love me. Nothing can stop that..."

He grinned and kissed her lips one last time, "I really must go...Achilles isn't well and I should attend to him..." He got off the bed and seized his tunic from the floor beside the bed.

"Why is he not well?" Zyra finally rose from her bed and Patroclus handed her a new robe to wear,

"Your uncle took the liberty of taking his slave girl, a girl named Briseies. He's been furious about it, apparently...He's in love with her..."

Zyra looked up at him in disbelief, "Achilles? The great warrior? In love?" She could almost laugh, "He's never loved anyone in his entire life, except for you..."

"I believed it so," He picked up his sword, "I guess we were wrong..."

Patroclus turned to Zyra, staring over her naked body that was yet to be dressed, and then walked towards her. After leaving her with one avid kiss, he felt her temperate hand pull him back by his own.

"Will I see you?" She asked him with such hope, Patroclus wanted to take her back to Phtia and have a life with her there. For a moment, he dreamed of marrying her and making her his forever. He pictured her in a white robe; flowers at her feet, and the most stunning smile on her light face.

"Of course you will," He kissed her once again, "Until then, my love," then quickly left the tent door.

Zyra, dressed in only her bed sheets, watched him leave from her small window. Somewhere deep down, she felt blinded by love. But, it was a never-ending love. She felt she could love Patroclus until the day she died; who would object to who Zyra Andres, Princess of Sparta, loved ?

As Zyra dressed, she heard the sound of several footsteps marching. Clipping her tunic on the sides, she discarded the torn one from the other night and called Arcadia into the room.

"Ah, Zyra," Her uncle, Agamemnon, walked into the room surrounded by several guards, "Glad to see your beautiful face awake at such an hour,"

"This face is as pleased to see you as you are to see it," She grinned at her uncle as Arcadia began tying her hair with several pins, "What brings you to my part of the beach?"

He stepped forward, "I was visited by a priest from Sparta today,"

Zyra did not turn, but perked her ears to listen to Agamemnon.

"Said he traveled miles and many oceans to deliver the foul news," Agamemnon spoke as he examined the vase of orchids in her room, "Want to know what the news was?"

"Yes," Zyra stared at him in the mirror,

"He said an oracle had described your death..."

Zyra froze. Death? How was that even possible? She was most likely the greatest warrior since Achilles, how would she die?

Agamemnon continued, "He even brought the oracle with him. She sits in my tent now, wishing to bring her prediction to you..."

Immediately, Zyra stood up and rushed outside. The day was hot; The sky was filled with clouds and the sea was roaring with delight. How could the day be so bright, when her life was fading so heavily? Even as she hurried to her uncle's tent, where the oracle awaited her, Zyra began thinking of a million ways she would die.

"Princess," The old priest stood in front of the tent, wearing his normal red and gold robes, "The oracle-"

"Yes yes," Zyra interrupted, "I know. Where is she?"

"Inside," He pointed.

The oracle was a raven haired girl with the fairest skin Zyra had ever seen. She was sitting on a tripod seat, half-naked with golden scarves covering her body, while her hair curtained her pale face. Once Zyra stepped into the room it instantly began to state her prediction with ease:

_"Dear Princess..._

_Pretty Princess..._

_Ruin will fall on your family and those you cherish..._

_Even after Troy has perished..._

_When the thing you once despised..._

_Becomes your demise..."_

The oracle then paused in motion and lowered her head once more. Zyra hesitated to speak; she was too stunned and too shocked to express any emotion to anyone. A hand touched her shoulder, but it was hundreds of years away in her mind.

Whatever it was...

Death was coming...


End file.
